Page 29 of Caged Beauty

“What are we going to do now?” she asks.

“I need to talk to Rico. He’ll tell me everything on his end, and until he thinks we’re safe, we'll stay here. I may return to town, but you’re not leaving here.”

She nods.

There’s so much she doesn’t know, and the need to tell her everything is starting to bubble over. But we've been through a lot, and I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about how many people I’ve killed or other bad things I’ve done or what I will do.

But I need to give her something, so I offer her this.

“Since we’re being honest…” I say, twirling the liquid in my glass. “I was drunk when I asked you to marry me because I was thinking about my father. He’s the reason I’m this… dark. I don’t know what it is, but every time I think about him, I look for the first thing that will get him away from me.” I sigh. “I was doing so well.” My voice is solemn. “Anyway, it had nothing to do with you, and it’s not something that happens often. I just… had a bad day.”

She nods in understanding and sits on the couch that sits alongside the far wall.

It might have been a bad day but I still don’t regret asking her to marry me. Not only was it the smart move but… I like it. I like her being mine.

I take my drink and sit beside her, a sigh breathing past my lips as I lean against the couch.

After a long stretch of silence, Serenity says, “So we both have shitty dads, huh?”

I nod. “Yup. The worst of the worst.”

“I guess out of all the things we have in common, this is probably the most likely,” she comments.

“That or favorite food, I guess,” I reply.

Another beat of silence passes us.

“I like pizza,” she says.

I smile into my drink. “I do, too.” I chuckle softly, covering my mouth to hide it.

That little exchange shifts the mood. We both seem to calm down, if only for a little while.

Chapter 13

Serenity

“What’syourfavoritecolor?”Dante asks.

“Green. You?”

“Red.”

We’ve been doing this for the last hour. Drinking whiskey and asking each other questions, getting to know each other, and seeing what else we have in common. It’s maybe the most normal thing we’ve done since we met.

I run my fingers over the tattoos on his hand. A black rose on the back of his hand and covering each knuckle are letters spelling “WIFE.”

“Did it hurt?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Same,” I say, remembering feeling almost nothing during the blood tests I took with that doctor. Just a prick.

Which reminds me…

“How do you know that doctor? My new OB.”

Dante takes another swig of the whiskey in the bottle before answering.

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